“Number Five, Number Five.” Damon lept to his feet again. “The St. Louis plane is now landing.” Was this it at last? Could it be possible? Damon dashed off to make sure, then signaled her impatiently to join him at the gate. It was all happening more quickly than seemed possible. A man with a brief case pushed in past them; then three excited young girls wearing orchids; what if they failed to recognize her? Julia pressed Damon’s arm. There was no other woman alone. She was extremely elegant, Julia noted with surprise, pushing back a strand of hair, wishing now that she had thought to wear a hat.

“Mrs. Ferrier?” Damon asked.

“Yes—are you”—she hesitated, searched for a name, gave up with a shy glance at Julia.

“I’m Damon Phillips. This is my wife, Mrs. Ferrier. Professor Fosca, who telephoned you last night, has no car, and besides he is quite exhausted, as you can understand.”

“It’s awfully good of you to meet me,” she was saying, “I’ll just see about my bags.”

“Give me the checks. You and Julia sit down.” Damon ran off impressed, Julia sensed, by the smooth elegance beside her, the air of unobtrusive luxury, the soft silvery gray fur wrap, the slim ankles. Damon, as susceptible as a boy, had evidently already reversed his judgment.

“Your husband is a professor?” Isabel interrupted her train of thought.

“Yes, physics.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t understand anything about it,” Julia smiled reassuringly. “It’s all a mystery.”

“My husband is a surgeon.” Julia noted the slight lift of the chin, was faintly amused. Surgeons in Isabel Ferrier’s hierarchy were evidently superior to professors.

“So Edward told us.”

“Did he—did he speak of us often?” The bright gray eyes looked frightened, and Julia, seeing the fright in them, answered more warmly than truthfully, “Of course.” Thank goodness Damon was coming towards them now with the bags and this subject could be dropped.

It was a relief to get out of the garish light into the dark car. Isabel took out a cigarette and offered Julia one. They sat together in the back seat.

“Damon is the worst driver in the world,” Julia said, as he stalled the car for the second time. “All we can do is try to relax and count on the innocent’s luck. It’s flooded, darling, just wait a minute,” she said to Damon’s back.

“Oh be quiet, Julia,” he said crossly. “You make me nervous.”